


Cold Winds and an Endless Sky

by sharky_chan



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fade to Black, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharky_chan/pseuds/sharky_chan
Summary: During the events of 5.4 (Futures Rewritten), Nero tries out the whole sticking-around-thing. Unfortunately for Nero, Cid is confronted by the demons of his past, leaving Nero to discover it’s much easier to be in love when love doesn’t involve things like “empathy” and “compassion” and “emotional vulnerability.”
Relationships: Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Cold Winds and an Endless Sky

“All right!” Cid exclaimed, punching his palm for emphasis. “Our contract with the Scions is complete. We recovered lost Allagan technology, built the most advanced super-terminal in Eorzea, and found a cure for tempering. Not bad for a side job, eh?”

Wedge and Biggs let out a cheer, but Nero merely raised an eyebrow. “Built and destroyed the most advanced super-terminal in Eorzea, you mean. Or did you plan to leave that part out when you report to the deputy president?”

Giving Nero a companionable slap on the back, Cid laughed, “I certainly am going to leave that out, and I suggest you don’t bring it up either.” His eyes gleamed. “For everyone’s sake.”

Nero didn't bother to hide a smirk. Cid was all bark and no bite. It wasn’t a question of if Jessie Jaye found out, so much as when, and they both knew it. Nero wagered that “when” would be tonight after Wedge had one too many drinks, meaning Garlond was on borrowed time.

Cid gestured to the last of the crates. “Once you get these shelved, we’re done. Celebration’s at Seventh Heaven -- drinks on me!”

As the crew let out another cheer, Cid rapped his knuckles against Nero’s arm. “Except you. You’ve taken enough of my gil to last a lifetime.”

Nero smiled. “When you have as sophisticated of taste as I do, money hardly lasts a lifetime. But I’m sure the deputy president and I can come up with some future projects should I find myself in need of funds.”

Cid’s eyes narrowed. “Just make sure they’re not connected to my personal account next time.”

Nero didn’t respond, but his smile said “no promises.”

Cid hadn’t exactly invited Nero to the celebration, but he hadn’t _not_ invited Nero either. Nero wasn’t sure what to make of it. This was the point in their collaborations where Nero slipped away -- after the hard work was finished but before Cid could harass him about “friendship” or “teamwork” or other such nonsense.

Yet Nero found himself waiting for Cid to ask. Nero wasn’t quite ready to leave.

It was sentimental and foolish, but the impulse was undeniable. Perhaps it was the infectious enthusiasm of the Ironworks employees, and how they’d come to treat him as a friend and colleague despite, or perhaps it was G’raha Tia’s prophecies. Enigmatic tales of what his future would have been had prompted Nero’s return in the first place. A lifetime spent with Cid in service to science. The most important discoveries of this star had been achieved by him in order to save the world. Nero had always liked the idea of being a hero (if not the ethos). He couldn’t deny he was intrigued to see echoes of this play out.

By the time they reached Seventh Heaven, most of the Ironworks team had already assembled and was drinking in a sideroom reserved by Jessie. It didn’t matter whether employees had contributed directly to this project or not. The cure to tempering was the project of a lifetime, and it had been made possible through Garlond Ironworks. Freedom through technology indeed.

A cheer erupted as Cid entered, but the man took it in stride as though this was the usual reaction to his presence. He gave everyone a friendly wave before heading to the bar to grab a drink. Nero also kept his expression nonchalant. He was here as a contractor, so he only cared about the project as much as was contractually required. Not to mention Nero’s contributions today were but a footnote in his long list of illustrious accomplishments, nor did he care about benefits the Eorzean people.

Yet Nero couldn’t shake the small, niggling sense of sentimentality as random Ironworks members offered him drinks and congratulations. Many of these men and women had lost friends and loved ones to the eikon menace. These congratulations were not just a professional courtesy, and this was exactly what Nero wanted to avoid. He wasn’t here to join the team or make friends, regardless of what the future prophesied.

Nero started to move, intent on slipping out the bar’s door, but a hand caught him about the wrist. When he turned, Cid flashed a knowing smile.

“Too slow this time.” Cid's voice was low, meant only for Nero’s ears.

Nero managed a weak smile. “Indeed, Garlond.”

“Drinks are on the company tab, so you needn’t worry about spending the remaining gil you stole tonight.”

“Wonderful." Nero glanced down at Cid’s hand, which still held his wrist. "So I suppose you'll let me go now? I promise I won’t try to escape.”

Cid’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Chief! Nero!”

From the tone of her voice, Jessie was in a good mood. The crowd of Ironworks employees parted as she made her way toward them, carrying a tray of wine and glasses. At last Cid released Nero’s wrist.

“You don’t trust me to mind you, Garlond, but you trust me to mind the deputy president?”

Cid gave Nero a flat look that said, quite eloquently, he thought Nero’s question a stupid one.

“I opened this bottle just for you, Nero,” Jessie said with a sly smirk. “Vylbrand wine. It’s the first bottling of a vintage that’s using a new strain of Bacchus grapes. Even an Imperial snob like you might be impressed.”

Nero looked skeptical at being impressed by anything Eorzean, but he accepted the glass. After a swirl and a sniff, Nero took a sip. The wine was young but exceedingly good. Far better than it had any right to be coming from a backwater like Eorzea.

“Not bad, Deputy President.”

Jessie clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”

The evening was far more enjoyable than Nero would have liked. Ironworks engineers celebrated with as much wine as the Garleans and only slightly more restraint. The people who did approach him did so with offerings of alcohol and interesting technical questions, which was all Nero wanted from them.

By the time he won his bet, Nero was quite drunk.

“You did what?” Jessie screeched from across the room.

A yalm radius of empty space formed around Jessie and Wedge, who’d frozen in place like a bird facing a scalekin.

“Do you know how many crates of ceruleum that was? How much work it was to get those Allagan terminals? Where’s the chief?”

As Jessie surveyed the bar with a sharp gaze, a hand settled on Nero’s hip and gave him a sharp pull.

“We’re going,” Cid hissed.

They’d moved several steps toward the door before Nero realized what was happening. “Garlond, are you actually using me a shield to escape the deputy president’s notice?”

“One of the many benefits of being short,” Cid whispered. “Now keep your back straight.”

The last thing Nero heard before the door shut behind them was, “Chief, where are you? Why didn’t you underclock it and let it run longer? Are you trying to sabotage this company? Where did you go?!”

This late at night, the streets of Revenant's Toll were quiet except for the occasional drunken adventurer, who paid the pair no heed. They walked in silence at a brisk pace that was fine for Nero’s longer legs but a bit unsustainable for someone of Cid’s stature. Yet Cid’s pace didn’t flag until they reached the residential district. Only then did Cid exhale a sigh of relief and settle into a more comfortable walking speed.

He’d yet to drop his hand from Nero’s hip, but Nero didn’t mention this. It had been a while since he’d had Cid’s hands on him, and he savored the feeling.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable, old friend,” Nero remarked.

“Then I will savor every moment before the inevitable.”

Cid wore a world-weary, somber expression. For a long, serious moment neither man spoke, then as one, they burst into chuckles.

“What’s so funny, Nero?” Cid said. His voice held mock indignation but he was still laughing.

“Nothing, dear Garlond, nothing,” Nero said, trying to smother his grin. He slung an arm around Cid’s shoulder. “I’m just thinking I’m drunker than I realized, and perhaps you are too. What are we? Sixteen summers and back in the Academy? Pulling one over the teachers?”

Cid’s smile turned nostalgic. “You mean when we broke into the machining room overnight to finish our prototype and had to sneak out the window when Magister arrived early?”

“I was thinking of when your drone caught fire during the judging, and I had to convince them it was part of the design.”

“Strange, Nero. That’s not how I remember it. It was your drone, and I was the one doing the talking.”

“Always have to be the hero, don’t you, Garlond?” Nero’s words held no bitterness. It had been a long time since his anger toward Cid had faded. Instead he felt wistful affection as he looked down at the man by his side. Garlond had somehow grown more attractive since last he'd seen him. It was hard to ignore the impulse to play with his hair.

“It wasn’t all bad back then, was it?” Nero asked with more nostalgia than he'd intended.

Cid’s grip on his waist tightened. “No. No, it wasn’t. But Eorzea is better.” He pulled Nero a little closer against his side, and the possessive gesture made Nero’s heart beat a fraction faster. Cid regarded him with a sly expression. “Don’t you agree?”

“I only agree with you on matters of science, Garlond,” Nero replied. “And then, only when absolutely necessary.”

They’d entered the Ironworks housing complex on the edge of the town. The buildings provided lodging for all employees who requested it, including the Ironworks president himself. Cid had a number of apartments scattered across Eorzea, since he rarely operated out of one place for long, but as Revenant's Toll was the heart of Garlond Ironworks operations, the cottage here was as close to his home as any.

When they reached the cottage, Nero gestured vaguely further down the courtyard, where Ironworks had provided Nero with temporary rooms of his own.

“I’m that way, Garlond. I suppose I should say my goodbyes now, as you’ll undoubtedly be hiding in here for the next few weeks.”

“A few days will be enough,” Cid said, as though Nero’s words hadn’t been a joke. “Once Jessie calms down enough not to murder me, she’ll assign me the most menial but profitable contracts Ironworks has until she starts to worry I might abscond the company out of boredom.”

“Imagine you absconding,” Nero said in mock surprise.

“I could say the same to you,” Cid retorted, not missing a beat. “The point is, a dozen crates of lost ceruleum and a few burnt out Allagan terminals or no, it will be fine.” He paused. “And you. You should come in before you go. For...drinks.”

The way Cid was looking at him told Nero everything he needed to know about these drinks. Nor could he ignore Cid’s hand still on his hip, as though Cid had no intention of letting him leave regardless. Of course Nero would stay, but he wanted Cid to work for it.

“Didn't get enough to drink at the party, Garlond?”

Cid stared up at him with a hard, calculating look. He opened his mouth as if to retort but then decided against it. Instead, he grabbed Nero by the wrist and dragged him inside.

As soon as the door shut, Nero found himself pressing Cid against the wall, kissing him along his mouth and neck and shoulders. Cid’s hands, demanding and rough, had tangled into Nero’s hair and clothes to hold him close. Cid’s grip was tighter than strictly necessary, but Nero supposed that’s what he got for provoking the man.

All in all, Nero decided, this was the most pleasant possible way Cid could have invited him to stay.

***

Nero had planned on remaining in Revenant's Toll only a few days more, but days stretched into weeks. It seemed Garlond had him figured out. Just when Nero contemplated returning to his personal research, Cid dangled interesting projects before him. Interesting projects were easier to come by now that the great Master Garlond was occupied with drudge work (and would be until all debts were paid).

While these projects were not as compelling as a cure to tempering or time travel, there was plenty of Allagan technology involved. Mor Dhona was a hotbed of Allagan relics -- the most noteworthy being G’raha Tia -- and Nero didn’t hide his interest in studying the boy. He was very eager to know about the futures and pasts G’raha had witnessed.

It had been an awkward first reunion. The last time he’d seen G’raha, Nero had just been saved by Cid from the World of Darkness after cursing G’raha for obtaining its powers instead of him. Everyone, including G’raha, had treated his declarations of personal ambition and disregard for their lives as nothing but an attempt to save face as he performed acts of heroism in the fight against the Cloud of Darkness. It had been a deeply frustrating experience. 

Nero had hoped an older, more seasoned G’raha would be more cynical (and therefore leery) of Nero, but it was just the opposite. If anything, G’raha’s respect for Nero had grown during his time in the unwritten future. The boy insisted they’d never met -- that Nero was long dead by the time the people of Eorzea awakened G’raha -- but it seemed Nero’s legacy was one that inspired admiration.

Once, Nero managed to catch G’raha away from the other Scions to ask a personal question. “Do you think, in that future, I...went soft?”

G’raha smiled reassuringly. “Not at all, Master Scaeva.”

Nero’s heart sank. The gentle lie said it all. Of course he’d gone soft. He was going soft right now.

Yet such realization made it easier in a way. In that future, he’d stayed when the world had fallen apart. Hundreds of years from now, in a timeline that no longer existed, he’d be remembered as a hero, as Cid Garlond’s most trusted companion and partner.

It was the highest order of heart-warming altruism that made Nero physically ill, but heart-warming altruism was an unfortunate recurring theme in his life. It seemed petty to pretend he wouldn’t be there when Cid needed him -- when Cid asked for him -- when they both knew he would.

Staying had the added benefit of Nero spending more nights in Cid’s bedchambers than his own. It was a welcome change, as much as both men valued personal space. Back in Garlemald, Nero had his choice of whom to bed, but it was difficult in Eorzea. He was quite obviously Garlean to anyone looking closely, and the type of Eorzean that sought out the company of Garleans was not to Nero’s taste. Not that celibacy suited Nero either.

This arrangement, with the ever-attractive Garlond no less, was ideal, and Cid was more than amenable to it. It had, admittedly, taken him a while to warm up to Nero after the whole Ultima Weapon incident, but they slipped back into being lovers as easily now as they had in their school days. And though sometimes Cid was moodier and more withdrawn than Nero remembered him, he seemed happy for Nero’s company.

When Cid told Nero he was going to Ala Mhigo on business (actual business, not Jessie’s revenge business) Nero didn’t ask for details. He knew Garlond was assisting the Eorzean Alliance in their battle with Garlemald, and Nero was happy to keep his distance from that front.

As far as the Empire was concerned, Nero tol Scaeva’s status was in a state of uncertainty. Nero might be a traitor, a defector, or he might be an Imperial spy deep within enemy territory. Was he dead, or was he alive? As long as Nero exercised some discretion, he could keep all of these options on the table and his actual purpose (that is, doing whatever he damned well pleased) unverified. He didn’t want more Imperials coming with pesky questions, nor did he want his military rank “tol” officially revoked. Nero had worked hard for it.

Nero hadn’t asked questions, but he was surprised to see Wedge and Biggs still in Revenant's toll after Cid’s departure. He’d come to the Ironworks repair shop to recalibrate some of his instruments, and the pair of them were already there, working on their own gear.

Wedge gave Nero a casual wave, and even Biggs flashed a smile. Nothing like a few close encounters with death to deepen a friendship.

As he sat down across from them at the workbench, Nero remarked, “You two didn’t join Garlond in Ala Mhigo? No dream team this time?”

“Ironworks has good relations with all the city states,” Biggs said, pointedly ignoring Nero’s jab. “But we’re a civilian operation. The work we’re doing here is just as important as anything we do for the Alliance.”

Wedge nodded. “The only reason the chief is going there personally is because that team needs his direct assistance.”

“Oh?” Nero raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. What’s he working on?”

“Oh...well...” Wedge looked flustered. “That’s sort of...er...need to know.”

“And I don’t need to know?”

“N-no no no! Nothing like that!” Wedge insisted. “But...yes.”

Nero smirked, resting his chin on a hand. The work before him was forgotten. “Garlond ‘freedom through technology’ Ironworks keeping secrets from its own? This gets more intriguing by the minute.“

“Ah!” Wedge jumped out of his seat in agitation. “It’s nothing like that! Please, Nero, can you drop it?”

“Nope,” Nero said with a shrug. “I wasn’t interested before, but I am now.”

Wedge let out a pitiful wail, but when he looked to Biggs for support, the larger man just shook his head and returned to soldering. “You did this to yourself, Wedge.”

Wedge dropped his head with a sigh. “Look, if I tell you what I know, will you stop prying? It’s not confidential. It’s just...sensitive.”

Nero leaned back in his seat, settling in for a good story. “All right. What’s so sensitive that Garlond feels the need to keep it a secret?”

“The team’s not actually in Ala Mhigo. They’re in Ilsabard,” Wedge admitted. “The Garleans are building a new line of weapons based on Allagan technology -- like your Ultima Weapon. With all the uncertainty and instability in Ala Mhigo, the Eorzean Alliance wants to keep the details quiet. They don’t want mass panic spreading at the possibility of another invasion.”

“More anti-eikon weapons, eh? And Garlond didn’t think to invite me?”

“For one, you were missing when all this started,” Biggs interjected. His desire to chastise Nero apparently out-weighed his enjoyment of watching Wedge squirm. “For another, the Alliance member leading the operation is Gaius van Baelsar.”

Nero’s smile slipped a fraction. “Ah.”

Nero hadn’t seen Gaius since the fall of the Praetorium, but he was happy to keep it that way. He didn’t fear for his safety or anything so dramatic. The thought of seeing his old commander again was just...awkward. Nero had admired Gaius more than he liked to admit. The former Legatus was shockingly charismatic, and Gaius’ relationship with Cid had only complicated Nero’s feelings. There were few people Nero respected, so to have two of them respect each other more than they respected him was infuriating.

An echo of that old, gnawing jealousy returned at the thought about Gaius and Garlond working together. At best, a reunion meant answering uncomfortable questions Gaius had for Nero. At worst, Nero would confirm that Gaius was indeed indifferent to everything Nero had done since. The thought made Nero’s stomach twist.

He forced his thoughts back to the present conversation. “So fear of wide-spread panic, and keeping knowledge of Gaius van Baelsar’s involvement to a minimum…” Something about this narrative still wasn’t quite right. “Surely there’s more to it than that?”

Biggs and Wedge exchanged glances.

“We don’t know the details ourselves,” Biggs admitted. “But it sounds like there have been some disturbing experiments going on in Garlemald in the creation of these weapons. The team out there isn’t saying much, and neither is the chief. It’s probably nothing more than the chief wanting to avoid rumors until he knows what’s going on, but...”

The thought of more Garlean experiments hung heavy in the room. Nero had heard whispers about Garlemald and Black Rose. It did not take much of a logical leap to assume there were additional, nasty experiments happening in other sectors of the Garlean military. None of this boded well -- either for Eorzea or the Empire itself.

“Also I think the chief is just excited to check back on G-Warrior,” Wedge added with a nervous laugh, as though trying to lighten the mood.

Nero blinked. “G-Warrior?”

“You know,” Wedge insisted. “The anti-primal machine we found in Azys Lla? It’s not exactly a secret. A team found it a few months after the Interdimensional Rift closed. But I guess you’d already...er...you know. Disappeared.”

Nero drummed his fingers on the lab table. “Are you telling me Ironworks found and restored an anti-eikon war machine, rebranded it in Garlond’s name, is now testing it in the field, and that man had the nerve not to inform me?”

Biggs gave him an unsympathetic shrug. “Ironworks projects don’t start and stop at your pleasure, Nero. You should think about that next time you play so hard-to-get with the chief.”

Nero huffed, at last returning his attention to the equipment before him. He was worth all the time it took to acquire him, and Garlond knew it. But a deal was a deal, and he’d promised Wedge not to pry further. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a few questions for Cid when the man returned to Revenant's Toll, though.

****

Cid’s airship was scheduled to arrive late in the evening, so Nero arranged his work hours to be finishing up experiments around that time. On the way back from the lab, he stopped by Cid’s quarters in a completely casual, not-at-all-premeditated way.

Faint light trickled through the crack under Cid’s door, suggesting someone was inside and awake, but Nero didn’t hear any activity, such as unpacking or settling in for the night. Nero knocked.

The room remained quiet. Nero knocked again.

“Garlond? Are you there?”

At last came vague sounds of movement.

“Oh...yeah,” Cid said in a distracted voice. “Come in.”

Cid’s coat, gloves, and boots had been tossed in a pile near the door along with his still-packed bags. He sat in the living room, hunched over a low table, which was covered with a sprawl of papers, a half-full glass, and a near-empty bottle of spirits.

It didn’t take a detective to know something was wrong.

“I would ask how the trip went,” Nero remarked as he retrieved a glass from the kitchen. “But I can hazard a guess that the answer is ‘not good.’”

Nero joined him on the couch, poured the last of the spirits into his own glass, as Cid sighed. Cid took a drink.

“That’s not true, Nero. The work we’re doing is good, important work, and the team has done a superb job. It’s just…” Whatever Cid intended to say didn’t come. He shook his head with a grimace. “I’m sorry, Nero. It’s been a very long day.”

Nero debated whether he should try to comfort the other man or leave him be. He settled for resting his arm along the ridge of the couch behind Cid’s head. He’d let Garlond decide whether or not it was an act of affection.

Cid seemed to understand this gesture, and he leaned into Nero, resting his head against Nero’s shoulder. Too tired for pride. That was very much unlike Cid nan Garlond.

Nero wanted to get the details of this G-Warrior project more than he wanted to hear about the latest Garlean atrocities, but even he could read the room. Whatever the Empire was doing in Ilsabard must have been nasty to leave the ever-stalwart Cid in such a state.

“Nero,” Cid murmured against his chest. “Does the name ‘Valens Varro’ mean anything to you?”

Nero blinked. It was a familiar name, but without the context of a rank, he couldn’t place it. “Varro...yes, I know that cognomen from somewhere. A scientist maybe? Perhaps I’ve read a publication.”

“It’s Valens van Varro now. He’s Legatus of the VIIth Imperial Legion. But you might remember him as one of your assistants on the Ultima Weapon Project.” Cid appeared exhausted, but he had enough energy to give Nero a sardonic look. “Or have you already forgotten that time you tried to destroy Eorzea?”

Nero ignored Cid’s question. It felt rhetorical.

“Oh.”

A vague recollection of the man started to coalesce in his mind’s eye.

“Oh. Valens. That man?” Nero blinked. “He’s a _Legatus_ now?”

“What was he like?” Cid’s voice remained low, but it held quiet urgency.

“Valens?” Nero asked with a laugh. “Nothing exceptional. A fine scientist in principle but far more arrogant than his limited imagination justified. I think he resented my position above him, but I was far too busy resenting you to consider him a rival. And he either lacked the talent or the ambition to undermine me in order to further his career. Why should I have paid him any heed?” Nero shook his head in wonderment. “But Legatus? Really? He outranks me?”

“Can you be a little serious?”

It seemed Cid was not in the mood for levity. He stood and began to pace the room. Nero said nothing. He’d never seen Cid quite like this before. Even during their lowest, tensest moments in the fight against Omega, Cid had never seemed this...agitated.

“Valens is using synthetic auracite for the cores of his war machines,” Cid said. “The auracite contains an Oversoul -- reconstructions of famous Legati based on their military records.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed. “Then this Oversoul is placed onto the operator to give them exceptional skill and battle prowess. In theory, even an untrained civilian could become an ace pilot.”

“In theory,” Cid agreed. “But your analysis is not quite correct. The Oversoul isn’t ‘placed on the pilot.’ It’s fused with them. Once you turn it on, there’s no turning it off.”

“Hmph, maybe the way Valens built it. I’d need to see the design specifications before I rule out the possibility of temporary control.”

“Seven hells, Nero, I’m not telling you this so we can improve the design. We’ve got to stop him!”

Even as Cid paced, his hands continued to tremble. He knocked back the last of his drink and all but slammed it onto the kitchen counter.

Nero swirled his own glass as he considered this information. “Synthetic auracite is ideal for allowing someone with no inherent magic to manipulate aether. Thus Garleans have a vested interest in understanding and mastering the material.” He looked up at Cid. “I’m guessing the test subjects in these experiments are not of Garlean descent though.”

“Conscripts...civilians...anyone Valens can get his hands on -- at least from what the people we liberated in Terncliff are saying.” Cid shook his head in disgust. “And among those test subjects are Gaius’ children.”

Nero set his glass down. As a former frumentarius, Nero knew all about Gaius’ children, though the man never called attention to his personal life. It was a matter of course that Nero received dossiers on everyone associated with Gaius, including his adoptive children, but the auri youth needed only a cursory investigation.

They were model Garlean citizens, adherents to the _mos maiorum_ in action and deed, and they seemed well on their way to exemplary military careers. They raised far less cause for concern than their older “sister” Livia sas Junius, whose obsession with Gaius and enthusiasm for quashing rebellions without legal proceedings had raised eyebrows back in the capital before her deployment to Eorzea.

Yet there were enough Garlean essentialists in the Imperial Legions that it was no surprise how, without Gaius’ protection, his auri children were subjected to the dirtiest, most dangerous jobs. Possibly because of their relationship to Gaius after the fall of the Praetorium.

Cid pressed his palms into the counter. Though his back was to Nero, Nero could well imagine his expression. Beyond the wanton cruelty and countless victims, beyond the violation of Cid’s most sacred ethos -- freedom through technology -- beyond all that, the man who was a father to Cid in all but blood was being punished by the Empire through his other children.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Nero muttered. It was a pathetic platitude, but Nero had naught else to offer.

“Nero,” Cid said at last. “Were we always so monstrous?” His voice was soft but Nero could hear how his words quavered. “I remember being proud of the Empire once. Proud of my father. Proud of the technology, reason, and equality we brought to the uncivilized world. I believed in our fight against the eikon menace. As naive as that was, surely there was some kernel of truth within the lies. Surely the Empire held something worthwhile.” Cid turned, giving Nero a pleading look. “Has there been nothing of our homeland to salvage this whole time?”

Salvaging their homeland...that thought hadn’t crossed Nero’s mind since arriving in Eorzea. Growing up in the provinces, Nero never had as rosy a view of the Empire as Garlond did, and by the time he joined the XIVth Imperial Legion, he’d been so utterly consumed by personal ambition and jealousy, he’d only thought of his own future.

The day Garlond defected, abandoning Nero for a new homeland, was the day Nero told himself he’d never care for anything or anyone outside of himself. True to his word, Nero had cared naught for the Empire outside of personal ambition, but some part of Garlond must have held out hope. Despite the destruction of Bozja Citadel, despite the fall of Dalamud, and the creation of Ultima Weapon, Cid must have believed that Garlemald might one day be a place worth returning home.

Nero rose from his seat. He knew he should reach out to Garlond, but his feet did not move.

“Garlond…”

Cid’s whole body began to tremble. He clutched his head, almost toppling over, but managed to catch himself on the counter with a groan.

“No...please,” Cid whimpered. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he shook his head as if seeing something before him. All at once, he doubled over, as though he'd been stabbed.

“Garlond,” Nero said again, this time with greater urgency.

Cid’s eyes opened, his gaze darting around the room. He did not look at Nero so much as through him, staring without comprehension. But then Cid blinked and his eyes seemed to focus. He recognized Nero at last.

“Nero.”

“Cid,” Nero said, trying to keep his voice even. “What --”

When Nero took a step toward him, Cid jerked away.

“I’m sorry, Nero,” Cid hissed through clenched teeth. “Please go. I...I need to be alone. Please.”

Nero’s stomach twisted. While Cid suffered on behalf of the people, Nero’s discomfort was purely selfish. He didn’t want to see Cid like this. He wanted Cid to banter with him, do science with him, make love to him. He didn’t want to see Cid looking so weak and vulnerable.

Nero was supposed to stay. He knew this. And he would have stayed, he told himself, if Cid had asked. But Cid was giving him such a pleading look, it was only right to respect the other man’s wishes. Nero dropped his eyes and left without another word, knowing full well he fled because he was a coward.

***

“You. Why are you packing?”

Nero stiffened at the sound of Jessie’s voice. He’d left the door ajar in his haste to transport the last of his lab equipment. He’d gotten sloppy in his haste to disappear before anyone noticed.

Nero smoothed his face into a self-possessed smile before turning to face her as she stood in the doorway. “Lovely to see you too, Deputy President. I’m allowed to leave aren’t I? I’ve completed all of my current contracts, so unless you found fault in my work...”

Jessie folded her arms. “I thought you’d decided to stay.”

“Plans change, Deputy President,” Nero said instead of “stop meddling, Jessie,” which is what he wanted to say.

“I am more than happy to contract with Ironworks in future ventures, given the right price and the right project, but it’s time to return to the field. I’ve never been to Azys Lla, you know. Maybe I can find some anti-eikon weapons of my own. S-Warrior has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Maybe give it a pleasing red coat of paint...”

Jessie stepped into his room and closed the door behind her. The conversation they were about to have required privacy. It would probably involve personal sentiment. It was everything Nero wanted to avoid, but too late now. Short of turning this into a physical altercation, he was trapped.

“What happened between you and the President?” Jessie asked in her blunt manner.

Rather than resort to physical altercation, Nero chose a more honorable route: he lied.

“Nothing, Deputy President.”

Nero returned to his packing. Jessie sighed.

Ever since that night, Cid had been avoiding him, and in all fairness, Nero had been avoiding Cid too. When they did interact, it was clear the man was struggling. It was not just Nero, either. Cid had become colder and more distant with the rest of the crew as well. He smiled less and brooded more -- only engaging with others during work, but the work he did was rote and joyless. It was nothing like his usual demeanor. For those who were close to Cid, this change was likely difficult, if not demoralizing, but Nero knew exactly how to fix it. It was time to leave.

“Did you have a fight?” Jessie asked.

Nero couldn’t help a bitter laugh. If only it were that easy. “No.”

“Then you’re afraid,” Jessie said with certainty.

That word cut to the quick. Afraid. Yes, Nero was afraid. He wasn’t so emotionally dense as to not realize why he was leaving. He was running away. But it was rude of Jessie to call attention to it.

“Not at all,” he muttered, but he gave up on the pretense of packing.

“That’s why you ran away those other times too,” Jessie insisted. “You can’t bear that thought of being emotionally invested in anything outside of yourself.”

“And what’s wrong with that, Deputy President?” Nero asked, at last turning to face her. “Garlond understands what I do and why. There’s no added benefit to us going around wearing our hearts on our sleeves. I stay for as long as it suits both of us, and no longer. And right now...we both need space.”

“No, Nero. The chief needs you.”

Nero stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m flattered you think so, but you are mistaken. Nor do I think my presence will be particularly helpful or welcome at this time.”

Jessie gave him a hard look, but after a moment, her expression softened. She put a hand on her hip. “I presume you know how I came to Eorzea, Nero?”

“Of course,” Nero said with a cold smile. “I directed the XIVth Legion’s frumentarii. If part of your job is to root out spies, you first research known defectors.”

Even expecting that answer, Jessie couldn’t conceal her scowl, and Nero didn’t blame her. Intelligence officers were just as much of war criminals as mad scientists, but somehow secret police seemed less savory.

“But do you know why I left?”

Nero took a moment to consider. “Unhappiness with the Empire’s military expansion, radicalization due to the increase in Populares propaganda, realization of the inherent inequality between Garlean citizens and non-citizens despite promises to the contrary.”

“Of course!” Jessie exclaimed, but she seemed disappointed in his answer. “That’s all true, but I left because of Cid nan Garlond. Because I believed in him. I wasn’t running away from the Empire, Nero. I was following the president.” She arched an eyebrow. “Does that sound like any other defector you know?”

Nero threw up his hands with a wry chuckle. “I have no idea what you mean. But very well. I followed him out here. Believe that if you will.” He couldn’t quite hold her gaze as he added, “He has notably never followed me.”

Jessie flashed a rueful smile. “That’s part of my point, Nero. We all followed him, because we wanted to be part of his vision. Because we love him. And even if he works us half to death, he loves us too.”

As Jessie walked toward him, her voice grew firmer. “But this only makes it harder when we know he’s hurting. He’s been through so much over the years. You can’t even imagine. And despite all this, he holds himself together for our sake, so we can rely on him. But these past few months…” Jessie shook her head. “He...he saw something in Gangos while assisting the Bozjans. And now there’s this disgusting Oversoul business on top of Black Rose.”

Jessie trailed off, hands clenched in frustration. “We know Master Garlond is not okay, Nero. We’re not idiots. Maybe he hasn’t been okay in a long time. Maybe not since the Citadel. I wish I knew. But...I worry he’s at a breaking point. We’re all worried, but he won’t let us be there for him.” When she met Nero’s gaze, her eyes gleamed with held-back tears. “And I can’t exactly tell him how cruel it is for him to push us away, when he’s already suffering so much.”

Nero closed his eyes. Ah yes, Garlond’s cruelty. Nero knew it better than most.

The man was a unique combination of selflessness, personal conviction, stubbornness, loyalty, and selfishness that made him the best and worst of friends. He would cross any number of hells to be there for a friend -- except the one that required him to open up to others. He would not hesitate to be the rock others stood on but never allowed himself to rely on anyone. Nero knew well how such seeming generosity could cut so deep.

It took Nero a moment to find his voice, but he owed Jessie his honesty. “I’m sorry, but you’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m the exception, Jessie.”

Jessie placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. “You’re his _friend_ , Nero. His equal. I’ve known that since before I met you. He couldn’t stop talking about you after you joined the NOAH expedition.”

Nero gave her a skeptical look.

“Okay, so most of the things he said weren’t nice, but I’m not a fool. I’ve known him since the Citadel. I can read between the lines. He shows you parts of himself that he’d never show us.”

_Friend and equal, eh?_

Nero pinched the bridge of his nose. Cid was such a headache.

“Garleans aren’t...good at...emotional intimacy,” Nero admitted.

“Yes,” Jessie said in a flat voice. “I am aware.”

He sighed. “But I will talk to Garlond. I don’t suspect much will come of it, but I’ll do it. For you.”

Jessie flashed a smile before pulling him into a rib-creaking hug. “You’re the best, Nero. I knew I could count on my number-one contractor.”

When Jessie’s vice-like grip didn’t loosen, Nero gave her an awkward pat on the back. “Does that mean I’m getting paid to do this?”

“Absolutely not.”

***

When Nero knocked on Cid’s door this time, the response came immediately. “Come in!”

Nero stepped inside. The kitchen and living room were empty, so Nero made his way to the small office connected to the bedroom. As expected, Cid was examining some documents spread across his desk, his back to the door. The room was a wreck. Papers and technology were scattered carelessly across the floor and table. Growing up as blue-blooded as they came, Cid had never mastered the art of cleaning, but this took it to another level.

“Just put them on the chair, Jessie. And yes, I promise I’ll clean up once I get through all these documents.”

Nero set the stack of papers Jessie had given him on the chair. “Anything else, President?”

“Twelve be good!” Cid did an actual leap as he whirled around to face Nero. “Nero! You startled me.”

Nero leaned down to tap the documents he’d set on the chair. “Jessie sent me on this errand despite my exorbitant courier fees.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you.” Cid had not recovered enough from his startlement to come up with a witty retort.

Nero shrugged. “Mission accomplished, I suppose.”

They regarded each other in silence, as though trying to assess how next to proceed. After this long deliberation, Nero made his move.

“Mind if I stay for a bit?”

Cid startled again as if the question were unexpected. “Yes. I mean, no. No, I don’t mind if you stay.”

Cid unceremoniously grabbed a box of parts sitting on one of the chairs and gestured to the now open seat.

While Nero accepted it, Cid dropped the box onto an almost visible part of the floor before returning to the papers on his desk. Cid’s solution to his unhappiness was throwing himself into as much work as he could physically and mentally endure.

Nero waited at first. He wasn’t eager to talk either, but when the silence continued, he realized Cid would win a contest in patience. Nero needed to strike.

“Garlond, I think maybe we should…” Nero trailed off, his decisiveness failing him mid-sentence. “You know...”

Garlond stopped his work to regard Nero with a wary expression. “...fuck...or talk?”

“Er, the second one. We should talk.”

Cid ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath as though bracing himself. “Yeah...I know. I meant to...” Cid shook his head. “Look, Nero. I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you. I know.”

Nero shrugged. “I’m well used to it, Garlond. It’s the rest of your team who struggle with your more selfish qualities.”

Cid’s shoulders sank. “Yes, I’ve been unfair to them too.”

He began to pace the room, but with the mess, it was hard to move anywhere without tripping over boxes or stacks of papers. “I know they’re just trying to help. But...what should I say?” Cid threw his hands up in frustration. “There are...things inside of me. I...I don’t know what these feelings are, or what I’m supposed to do with them. How can I possibly explain them?”

“You don’t have to explain them, Garlond,” Nero insisted. “You’re not a science experiment. Perhaps be more honest when you’re...struggling. And stop trying to hide everything with that damnable sweet smile of yours.” Nero shook his head in annoyance. “I swear you wear your generosity like armor. It’s sickening.”

Cid’s face softened as he looked at Nero. His lips curled into a smile.

Nero rolled his eyes. “See? Exactly like that. It’s patronizing.”

Cid continued to smile as he moved to stand before Nero. “I’m not patronizing you. At least not this time, Nero.” He dropped his gaze. “I suppose I’m happy to see you is all.”

Cid reached down to cup Nero’s jaw, and despite himself, Nero shivered. Cid continued in a low voice, “The truth is, part of me hoped you’d leave after that night. I wanted us both to forget about it.” Cid’s other hand touched his stomach for just an instant before returning to his side. “It’s hard to know what’s real, when it suddenly feels like no time has passed at all. I...didn’t want you to see me like that. I know it’s getting worse, I do, but I...if I can just...”

Cid’s thumb continued to stroke Nero’s jawline as he searched for words. It occurred to Nero that, for two people who liked so much to hear the sound of their own voices, they were awful at speaking.

Garlond must have come to the same conclusion, because instead of continuing to stammer around his thoughts, he settled onto Nero’s lap.

“Cid,” Nero said in a neutral voice, trying very hard not to enjoy Garlond’s warmth and smell. “I don’t know what to say either, but we can’t just keep --”

Cid kissed him on the mouth. It was deep and lingering and exceedingly distracting.

_Evading the conversation, Master Garlond._

Nero made some effort to stay focused, but he’d made no promises to Jessie for good reason. Cid knew how to play Nero when he needed to. It was equal parts frustrating and appealing. And it wasn’t like Nero had wanted to have this conversation in the first place.

Nero found his hands slipping under Cid’s shirt.

Perhaps even an abbreviated talk would count for something with the deputy president.

***

Nero woke in the night. He was not in his room. Garlond’s room, he realized after a moment of disorientation. But no Garlond. The tangle of sheets next to him was warm, but Nero saw no other sign of the man. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been happy to roll over and return to sleep, but this was not right. Something was off.

Once out of the bed, Nero retrieved his shirt and smallclothes, which lay discarded along the floor. In the quiet of the night, he could heard the sound of running water from within the washroom. He picked his way through the dark toward a trickle of light that spilled underneath the washroom door.

Washrooms in Eorzea were primitive affairs compared to the elaborate bathhouses of Garlemald, but Cid’s room was decadent by the local standards. The room had a large wooden bathtub as well as a separate showering area -- both fueled by a heating unit of custom Ironworks design. Cid was largely utilitarian when it came to creature comforts, but some aspects of Garlean culture were harder to give up than others.

Nero didn’t know exactly what to expect when he opened the door, but the sight of Cid confirmed his earlier fears.

Garlond was naked on the floor of the shower. His back was to the door, knees pulled into his chest. His whole body shuddered as if fighting back sobs. With the door open, Nero could hear wheezing gasps of breaths over the sound of the running water.

Nero’s instincts insisted he close the door and walk away, leaving Garlond to his privacy. It was the same as the other night. He was not equipped to help Garlond, and they both knew it.

 _Stay._ A smaller voice insisted. _Stay, damn you._

He dug his nails deep into his palms. Taking a deep breath, Nero forced himself to step into the room.

“Garlond.”

Garlond pressed his face into his knees but said nothing.

“It’s me,” Nero added like an idiot. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so sticking to obvious facts seemed like a good, if inane, start.

With visible effort, Cid calmed his shudders enough to speak. “I’d forgotten the smell for so long.” Cid’s voice was strained, the words distant as though recalling a dream. “Now I can’t get it off of my skin. It was so long, I guess I told myself it never really happened. So when it came back, I wasn’t ready.” Cid again began to tremble. “Ever since Gangos...the smell of blood, and fire, and burnt meat. It’s on my skin, and I can’t get it off.”

Cid cradled his head in his hands. When Nero stepped closer, he noticed the angry red welts along Cid’s arms and chest where he’d clawed at skin.

Nero moved to the edge of the shower -- close enough that a fine hot mist sprayed him -- but he did not touch Cid.

“That’s how the Citadel smelled,” Cid explained through clenched teeth. “And the Carteneau Plains as Dalamud fell. The Praetorium. What was left of those kids in the cockpits.” Cid’s voice cracked. “So much burnt meat.”

Cid lurched forward and began to dry-heave. From the sound of it, whatever contents his stomach may have held had been emptied long prior.

Nero reached into the spray of water to place a hand on Cid’s back. The water from the shower was painfully hot. Nero winced but didn’t remove his hand. This close, Nero could see not only scratches but how Cid’s skin was turning reddish-pink from the heat of the water. Cid paid no heed to the heat, but he noticed the physical contact. He reached up to grip Nero’s hand, holding it with trembling desperation.

“I killed them, Nero.” Cid’s nails dug deep into Nero’s knuckles. “By action or by inaction...the choices I made or failed to make...they’re all dead. I couldn’t save them. I can’t save anyone. No matter what I do to make things right, it’s not enough. And all I want...all I want is to forget this smell.”

Nero had dreaded this moment for so long. He’d known in his heart that he would not be equal to the task -- that the man G’raha insisted Nero had become was a lie. But now, it was simple. Nero knelt down and wrapped his arms around Cid. Pulling the smaller man against his chest, he buried his face into Cid’s hair.

The hot water continued to pelt Nero like the stings of vilekin but he didn’t flinch. Cid’s pain was more tangible than his own, and the time for pretense had passed. Cid needed him, and if Cid needed him, Nero would come. It was that simple. It had always been that simple.

Nero knew he was an amoral narcissist, extolling his selfishness and cruelty as badges of honor. How indifferent were the fates that a monster like Nero existed without a shred of guilt for all the blood on his hands, while Garlond -- beautiful, kind Garlond -- shouldered the sins of their people.

“You’re wrong, Cid.” Nero’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You’ve saved the world so many times, and you’ll save it again in days yet to come. You’ll save it as many times as it needs saving, and you won’t do it out of guilt or ‘to make things right.’ You’ll do it because you are you, and what you do is save people.”

Cid shook his head. “Ever since the Citadel, I’ve been losing pieces of myself. Little by little, they’ve cracked away and disappeared. And now I feel so empty. How can I save anyone when this...this husk is all that’s left?”

“Because what’s left is more than enough,” Nero said. “And you have a disgusting number of friends that can fill any of those gaps. People who want nothing more than to commiserate in your failures and celebrate in your victories. They want to remind you when to eat and sleep, and they will say and do the most ridiculous things so that you can be whole again.

“And as little as I care for, or know about, emotion and sentiment, I know this pain will fade. Even if the bloodstains never quite wash out, and the smell still lingers, it will fade. Because, if nothing else, those fools who love you will bring you enough happiness to balance out any number of sorrows. So believe in them, Garlond. They deserve at least that much.”

Cid shook his head as he all but sobbed, “This feeling...I can’t stand it.”

Nero held him tighter.

“I can’t stand it either,” Nero murmured. “Caring for others is unbearable, and I resent when I'm forced to do it. But I love you more than I hate this. I’ve already endured any and all hardships for you, remember? Long ago in that unwritten future. What’s a little discomfort in the here and now?”

Trembling, Garlond turned and buried his face into Nero’s now-sopping shirt. Nero held him tightly enough that his arms trembled, but he waited. He waited until Garlond’s breath evened out and the shudders subsided. Between the water and the angle, Nero’s body ached by the time Cid calmed, his breaths falling into tempo with Nero’s. Nero's arms and neck trembled, but he endured it just as he’d promised he would.

At last Cid shifted, still leaning into Nero, but allowing Nero the room to adjust.

“Nero,” Cid murmured.

“Yes?”

“You’re being...sweet.”

Nero’s lips quirked into a humorless smile. “I know. It’s disconcerting.”

“Can you stop it?” Cid’s fist curled into the fabric of Nero’s shirt. “Maybe act a little more condescending?”

Nero nuzzled the top of Cid’s head. “You’re right, Garlond. At least one of us should display emotional fortitude and dignity.”

“Finally,” Cid chuckled. “Finally you found something you do better than me.”

The soft laugh turned into sobs. They were soft at first, hitches in the back of Cid’s throat, but they grew in strength. Soon Cid was bawling. His body contorted with deep, wrenching sobs as he clung to Nero. In all their years together, Nero had never seen Cid cry. Never once at the Academy, not in the Crystal Tower, nor in the battles against Omega.

He hated the sight of it. He hated the unfairness of it. But Nero stayed. He'd hold Cid for as long as Cid wanted to be held, and shelter Cid’s body from the scalding stream of water as best he could.

***

“You packed light,” Cid remarked as Nero secured his bag with the rest of the airship’s cargo.

Nero took a moment to stretch out his back before turning to face the other man. “The less I pack, the less I carry, Garlond.”

With his property safely stowed, Nero crossed the gangplank to join Cid on the landing platform. He watched the rest of the Ironworks crew continue to prep the ship. “I’ll miss having your lackeys do my grunt work, though, I must say.”

“One of the many benefits of working for Ironworks,” Cid agreed.

Nero was hitching a ride on an outgoing Ironworks airship to Foundation. From there, he’d make his way to Azys Lla to study the Allagan ruins, or perhaps to the Hinterlands to see the wreckage of Alexander (that Garlond had not invited him on that particular adventure was nigh unforgivable).

The “where” was largely irrelevant. There was much and more he’d yet to see of Eorzea and its secrets. After so long in Mor Dhona, Nero’s wanderlust had returned. It was time to disappear -- to be beholden to no one but his personal whims and curiosities. Even if Garlond insisted he say goodbye first.

Days had turned to weeks since Cid’s return from Terncliff, and his night terrors were waning. They'd become less frequent and less severe. Yet knowing what to look for, Nero could see the indelible marks the past had left on Cid’s demeanor. He’d known Garlond had changed since their school days, but everyone changes. The whys of these changes was now apparent.

The stories Cid shared with Nero were disjoint, fragmented, and spoken with obvious effort. Yet Cid said enough that Nero could piece it together -- what had happened to Midas nan Garlond all those years ago, and what exactly Oversoul did to a person, mentally and physiologically. Nero could see the Carteneau Plains the way Cid had seen them that night -- awash in the blood and fire of Dalamud’s fall -- and he could understand why, in hindsight, the creation of Ultima Weapon might have been just a little in poor taste. Not that Nero would apologize.

But their time together was not spent solely recalling horrors. Cid explained the intricacies of Alexander, and Nero admitted how he’d made his Scaevan improvements to the Ironworks design. They reminisced about their boyhood days at the Academy, debated how their lives and research had unfolded in the unwritten future, and discussed any and all pet theories and conjectures that they hoped to be beyond the other’s ken. All the while, Nero did what he could to ensure that Garlond laughed, and ate, and slept -- the same as the other fools who loved Garlond.

Yet the time had come for Nero to leave. Perhaps one day, Nero would return and decide not to leave, but with at least one Calamity averted, there was far too much to explore before settling down. The future was wide open, and Nero needed the solitude of the field. He missed the freedom. He loved it at least as much as he loved Cid.

“Getting access to Azys Lla won’t be easy,” Cid said not for the first time. “Are you sure you don’t want my assistance?”

“I’m not there on Ironworks business,” Nero countered, also not for the first time. “It seems a bit unethical, doesn’t it? To use your influence as the great Master Garlond just for a friend?”

Cid snorted. “You? Worrying about ethics? Really, Nero, you have gone soft.”

“Hardly. I say that out of concern for you, being the slightly more morally-minded of us. For my part, I don’t want to be indebted to you. Anything I find out there will belong to me and to me alone.”

“Oh you mean you’re wanting a G-Warrior knock-off to paint red?”

“Don’t be jealous that my Scaevan gear sells better than your Ironworks,” Nero said with a smug expression. He added, “Truth be told, I started that line mostly to recompense the funding I’d lost while conducting research in Dravania.”

“Before you gained personal access to my bank accounts.”

“Those were trying times indeed, Garlond.” Nero smiled a sharp, sweet grin. “But now that money is less of a concern, I’m looking to do something more...ambitious. Nothing derivative at all.”

“I will look forward to the results,” Cid said, this time with a genuine smile. The open praise, uncouched in banter or sarcasm, caught Nero off guard. His cheeks flushed despite himself, but Cid fortunately didn’t notice. Garland rapped his knuckles against Nero’s chest. “But don’t be surprised if we leave you behind while you’re gone.”

“Funny. So far you’ve been the one chasing after me.”

Nero extended a hand, which Cid accepted, giving it a friendly, if slightly irritable, squeeze.

“That’s true. Except for that one time you joined the military to follow me to another continent because you couldn’t live without me.”

“That’s...not how I remember it.”

“That’s exactly how I remember it.”

Nero shrugged, about to step away, but before he could, Cid pulled him into a full hug. For the second time this day, Nero was caught off guard. He stiffened. Cid’s arms were extremely nice to have around him, but Nero felt the eyes of the Ironworks crew on them. Most had stopped working to regard their chief’s effusive embrace with bemusement. Beloved as Cid was by his employees, he was known more for being a good-natured taskmaster than an openly affectionate boss.

“Twelve keep you, Nero,” Cid whispered. “And come back soon.”

Despite the gawking of so many Ironworks employees, Nero placed a stiff hand on Cid’s back. He made sure the gesture looked insincere from a distance, but he curled his fingertips enough that Cid could feel Nero’s appreciation -- the return of this sentiment.

“The timeline will entirely depend on you and how intriguing your next inventions are,” Nero murmured.

When Cid stepped back, his sweet smile vanished, replaced by a cocky grin to regard his employees. “What are you lot staring at? We’ve got a schedule to keep, don’t we? If you keep standing around, I’ll find something for you to do.”

Master Garlond was back on the job.

By the time the ship was ready to depart, Jessie, Wedge, and Biggs had arrived to see Nero off. It was embarrassing -- exactly the sort of thing that made Nero want to disappear before such ceremonies could happen -- but a small part of him felt warmed by the gesture.

Yes, it was definitely time to leave.

Jessie, Wedge, and Biggs waved as the airship took to the skies, but Cid watched the departure without moving, arms crossed before him. Nero leaned against the railing. He did not wave either, but he couldn’t keep a smile from his lips.

This cold wind and endless sky, the uncertainty of the future, and the promises of new adventure, new challenges, new danger -- it was everything he cherished about this untamed, uncivilized, backwater continent. And however far Nero traveled, no matter how long he took or how often he disappeared, they would be there -- happy to see him -- whenever the time came to return home.


End file.
